


Just Enough of a Bastard to Be Worth Knowing

by enthusiasmgirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Aziraphale is So Done (Good Omens), Bets & Wagers, Cats, Crowley Being a Bastard (Good Omens), Drinking, Gen, Mischief, Pets, Pining, Post-Canon, Smug Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 04:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/pseuds/enthusiasmgirl
Summary: Aziraphale takes in a stray cat.So Crowley, in a fit of spite and jealousy, decides to take in a very mischievous stray Goose.Aziraphale's bookshop barely survives it. Both are very surprised by how things turn out.





	Just Enough of a Bastard to Be Worth Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was written thanks to the prompting, inspiration, and brainstormed ideas contributed by the Ace Omens Discord. Thanks everyone (since I cannot even remember how many names I should name really).
> 
> It takes place post-nonpocalypse, but assumes that basically because Aziraphale is stubborn not much has really changed for he and Crowley, except now they can hang out more.
> 
> It is, in fact, gen and not a romantic fic, although it is impossible to write the two of them without one of them pining because that's just canon.
> 
> It was super fun to write. Enjoy! :)

It was a day like any other. In other words, it was a day that was never supposed to be, the product of an averted apocalypse, which meant that it was full of limitless possibility. And that meant, for Crowley, a blissfully slothful day spent with one of the only other beings on Earth who knew how very unusual a day like any other actually was.

He strolled through the door of Aziraphale's bookshop in his usual manner, the one which he hoped came across as casual instead of as breathless and needy as he knew it to be, and took a deep breath to inhale the usual comforting scent of yellowing paper, book-binding glue, and just enough cologne to be politely fragrant without being overpowering. Only it turned out that this wasn't a day like any other after all. Because on this day there was something else mixed up in that scent. Something smelled evil.

Crowley took a moment to sniff himself self-consciously, wondering if perhaps he needed the equivalent of a primordial shower. But it wasn't coming from him. Then, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he heard it. There was a low rumbly growl coming from one of the shelves in the centre of the shop.

It was a cat. Hard to spot at first, black as it was. It was tucked away on a shelf just high enough that it shouldn't have been able to get there, perched in front of several volumes of romantic poetry in a way that seemed too precarious for it to possibly be comfortable.

The growling was aimed at him, and was accompanied by a deep yellow-eyed glare of pure malevolence.

It stopped him where he was, locked in a strange battle of wills, one he was startled into losing by the sudden appearance of the angel finally noticing him.

"Oh, Crowley dear, you're here!" Aziraphale said with a smile, cheerful surprise in his voice. As though Crowley hadn't been in his shop nearly every day at this time since the Apocalypse That Wasn't. "And I see you've met my new friend." Aziraphale gestured to the cat, beaming with affection. As much affection as he had directed at Crowley. Crowley tried very desperately not to think about how that made him feel, and especially tried not to liken the feeling to the experience he'd had earlier in the day of watching a small toddler hold their breath and cry "MINE! MINE!" on the floor of the grocery store after the boy's mother noticed and removed the biscuits from the cart which Crowley had discretely slipped in to cause a scene.

"Friend?" Crowley spit the word out, irritated beyond reason and scowling again at the cat in the hopes that it would submit and retreat. It continued only to glare, although the angry noises had suspiciously stopped when Aziraphale arrived. "You don't mean to tell me that creature is actually welcome here?"

"Well, of course she's welcome!" Aziraphale said, and his tone of indignation reminded Crowley that this was the same delicate flower who'd once avoided an entire corner of the shop for three months because he didn't want to disturb a small spider that had settled there. He'd finally called Crowley with urgency in his voice to come and see it safely back outside. Even then he had fretted about the web and refused to look while it was unceremoniously swept away.

"I found Emily last night out in the back alley shivering nearly to death in the rain, poor thing," Aziraphale told him. "So of course I took her in and helped her recover with some nice warm milk and a bit of that delicious salmon pate I picked up at the farmers market last weekend. Do you remember? Well, she was absolutely delighted, and made herself right at home." He moved to pet the cat, stroking carefully from head to tail.

"Emily?" Crowley asked in disbelief, the name seeming to burn his tongue. "You named it Emily? That vile thing?"

"Vile?" Aziraphale scolded, looking at Crowley in that self-righteous way that said what Crowley knew the angel believed himself too polite to ever say out loud, which was 'Oh, right. Demon.' "Nothing this trim and tiny and with fur this soft could be anything but beautiful," he said in a tone just shy of being as disgustingly saccharine as the one he normally directed at babies. Then, he caught himself, and added "not that all God's creatures aren't beautiful in their own way, of course." That was Heaven's script, and it made Crowley roll his eyes behind his glasses.

Aziraphale's continued ministrations caused the cat to turn itself around to seek out further contact and knock two books onto the floor in the process. It was asserting its power, Crowley knew, demonstrating its mastery over Aziraphale's attention and taunting the demon with what it knew he could never have. It occurred to Crowley briefly that it was perhaps pathetic to feel such a deep longing for anyone, especially Aziraphale, to scratch him firmly behind the ears, but he chose not to be concerned by it but instead to revel in the surge of spite it generated.

Rather than respond with his own display of dominance, Crowley chose to maintain what little dignity he had and not engage with either the cat or with Aziraphale on the subject any further. Instead, he simply made a particularly disgusted noise in the back of his throat and stomped in a vaguely angry way over to the couch in the back of the shop to throw himself down onto it in a huff, unsure if he even wanted Aziraphale to get the message he was trying to send.

Later, when they were both properly drunk and Crowley was feeling both just as irritated about the cat but also more inclined to irritate, Crowley couldn't help but voice his concerns. Especially when the cat was positioned so smugly across from him on Aziraphale's lap, leaving little tufts of fur clinging to the angel's once velvet waistcoat.

"You fed that thing salmon pate and warm milk?" he asked, remembering.

"Mmmmhmmm," Aziraphale replied lazily.

"Well, that's not going to go well," Crowley said. "You're not supposed to do that."

"She enjoyed it as much as I did!" Aziraphale said. "It was scrumptious. And besides, what would she have eaten outside?"

"Rats," Crowley said matter-of-factly. "Garbage maybe? Dunno. Cats are feral scavengers."

"No," Aziraphale said insistently. "They're soft, tender little balls of fluff, they are." He moved a second hand to pet the cat in two places at once, cooing "Yes, you are, aren't you?" There was the obnoxious baby voice again. Crowley tried not to retch.

"Gah, they're the worst!" he replied, "And humans are the worst for not realizing they're being taken advantage of. They're not domesticated. They domesticate you! Trick you into thinking you're getting something from them when they're just lazing about doing as they please. One of God's greatest mistakes, cats. Exiling me, putting that bugger Gabriel in charge, and cats. That's the list." He counted them off on his fingers. He waited after that, hoping that Aziraphale would disagree, but not about cats. He wanted the angel to tell him he was undercounting and add to the list, admit to Her failings, even about something inconsequential or mild.

Instead, Aziraphale just looked pensive for a moment. "The Almighty loves all of Her creations, Crowley," he finally said. "Cats included. She doesn't make mistakes. She's..."

"Ineffable, right, heard you the first damned time, angel" Crowley finished sadly and softly, without anger. Crowley knew that as much as Aziraphale now had no choice but to admit the faults of Heaven, getting him to admit to even the faintest whiff of doubting God was still impossible. But the most disappointing thing about it was that when Aziraphale said "all of Her creations", Crowley knew that he had left the words "even you" unspoken. As though he thought they might be comforting. As though Crowley's inclusion of his own exile on the list was nothing more than a self-loathing deflection of responsibility for his Fall. It stung, and he was just inebriated enough that he decided he wasn't going to let it go. But he wasn't going to confront it head on either, because that would've been too direct for his tastes. No, indirect, meandering, maze-like, even, that was him. It briefly occurred to his pickled brain in that moment that maybe he didn't get along with Her because they were just too similar that way.

"She makes mistakes," he told Aziraphale, not without bitterness. "Deep down you know it."

"Nuh-uh," Aziraphale shuffled his head from side to side from where it rested on the back of the chair like he was trying to object but his body wasn't obeying.

"Yesssssss! You know it," Crowley insisted. "Some of them are just harmless botch jobs, like the platypus. But some are a real problem. There are loads of Her creatures you don't like, ones you wish She'd just never made, you hyco... hyro... oh you know the word!"

Aziraphale harrumphed at that. "Full of love, She is," he said. "And me too."

"I daresay," Crowley continued, suddenly sober enough to plot, "I could even find, in the whole big wide universe, one of Her creatures that you'd admit to hating."

This got an exaggerated gasp in response. "I don't..." Aziraphale said, "I could never!" He protested too much, and Crowley knew he had him.

"Yuh-huh you could," Crowley said. "And if that happens, if I can find that one creature who you can't deny She got wrong, you have to get rid of that." He pointed at the cat, and in response it turned towards him and mewed. A pathetic, whiny little sound of innocent surprise that seemed to say "Who, me?"

"You've upset her," Aziraphale told him petulantly.

"And you?" Crowley asked.

"No, my dear," Aziraphale replied, "because I know it won't happen. So I'll accept your wager."

"Alright then," Crowley said, his mind already formulating lists of genus and species trying to identify the perfect candidate to torment the angel with.

"Alright then," Aziraphale concurred before changing the subject.

* * *

The next day, Crowley continued working through the list of all possible creatures Aziraphale might hate in his mind, thinking carefully about all the ways the angel might find to justify their existence in the face of his own annoyance. He was in the middle of a very entertaining fantasy of the two of them spending a proper day at a beach where a jellyfish sting would be a strong possibility when the universe, mysteriously, decided on the creature who would help him evict Aziraphale's new tenant for him.

He was minding his own business hanging around the local pawnbrokers (it being his own business in a literal sense as a part owner in a front for an impressive amount of temptation and vice over the years, although he rarely checked in on it much these days) when all of a sudden he heard a terrible racket coming from the street. He knew the noise was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it because there was also something vaguely unfamiliar about it too. Curious, he peeked his head out the door and couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the scene. A small, terrified boy wearing glasses much bigger than his head was pounding on the door of a nearby telephone box, stuck somehow, while a flustered cashier from a nearby shop wielding a broken broom tried in vain to free him. But that wasn't the noise that had initially attracted his attention. He stepped outside to look around.

And then he saw it and grinned from ear to ear, delighted. "Oh you'll do nicely," he said.

It was a goose! Pure white and adorably chubby, mischief shining happily in its eyes as it stood in the front window of the nearby electronics boutique, bobbing its head up and down as it honked and honked. But these weren't just any old honks. It had somehow gotten ahold of a glass bottle and stuck its beak into it, and seemed extremely pleased with itself at the way its new instrument amplified the chaos it was creating.

And it wasn't even just one goose, but a half dozen versions of the same goose broadcast live too! It had planted itself right in the centre of the store's CCTV cameras, hooked up to a set of fancy new smart TVs in the display window, in order to make sure the whole street knew how important it was and took notice. A small crowd had gathered to sate its need for attention, including the store's owner who must have been locked out. Crowley darted over, happy to play the hero, and parted the crowd as he moved through it before opening the door with a flourish. "Well, hello," he said, towering over the noisy thing and staring it down, unafraid. He took a moment to try and get a read on it, make sure that he couldn't sense any demonic or Hellish influence at work. But nope. Just a goose.

"What've you been up to, hmmmm?" he asked it, and it honked repeatedly at him in response. Crowley imagined this particular set of echoing honks to mean "Are you blind? Can't you see? This store belongs to me, as does this street, this city, and this world. I'm just letting everyone know."

"Don't suppose I can tempt you out of here?" he asked, putting his best skills, the ones he usually reserved for the angel, to work and offering it a nice bowl of salmon pate with one hand. He could have produced it from nothing, but took a special pleasure in knowing that instead Aziraphale would now have to find something else to keep feeding his precious Emily. He backed up out of the shop door slowly and onto the street, the goose following slowly after the food, dropping the bottle gently back onto the street where it had come from. The crowd parted again in awe. Whether it was of his goose mastery or of the goose itself Crowley couldn't be sure, nor cared. He lured the goose towards the Bentley and placed the food in the passenger seat, then opened the door for it and gestured for it to get in with a theatrical wave of his arm, which it did with an awkward wing flap and hop up the running board.

It took surprisingly little time for the crowd to forget about the strange friendship they'd witnessed the beginning of once they drove off.

* * *

It was a Sunday and still early, which meant that Aziraphale (still, after everything, ever the creature of habit) would be at Church, and so Crowley decided to take the goose, who he named Goose in honor of Adam and his superior naming abilities, home first. He wondered if perhaps it would take to a bit of training or preparation, if he could somehow ready it to cause maximum irritation to the unsuspecting angel.

He needn't have worried about it. The moment that he somehow convinced the besotted creature to follow him out of the Bentley and up the elevator to his apartment, he knew that Goose understood its purpose fully, had always been ready. And realized that its surprising affection for him was not unrequited.

He grinned from ear to ear as it slowly waddled around the length of his living room with confidence, entitlement oozing from its feathers, investigating everything curiously before finally reaching the plants. It occurred to Crowley that his new friend may think they were food or damage them, which would be counterproductive to the feeling of structure and stability they needed for the terror he inspired to have meaning. But he quickly realized that they were in no real danger. They didn't know that though, and the way their leaves and branches shook as wings flapped dangerously close to them accompanied by a flurry of directed hissing and honking made Crowley feel like a proud father.

Twenty minutes later, Red Cordylines blooming out of season in shock and awe, Crowley watched Goose finally tire of the display and head carefully towards the false wall, almost like it knew what was on the other side of it intuitively. It honked a couple of times, turned around to look at him, then pressed its weight firmly forward, allowing it entry to the hidden office. It occurred to Crowley that he'd inadvertently built his place with a Goose-door, as though it was destiny for them to occupy it together.

Crowley followed, and threw his head back and laughed when it awkwardly half-flew up into his throne and settled itself there like it owned the place, preening itself. "Oh, you cheeky thing!" Crowley told it. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you? It suits you better though, so you can have it." He chuckled as he walked away to make himself a coffee. Aziraphale, and his dearest Emily, weren't going to know what hit them.

* * *

The bookshop was closed on Sundays, so Crowley was faced with the indignity of having to ring the bell to be let in rather than saunter through the door as usual. The angel took his time answering it too. Crowley could hear him humming along to the Liszt piece playing on the phonograph inside, at ease, his pace relaxed.

"You're late darling," he heard as the door opened before delighting in the sudden turn Aziraphale's expression took when he spotted the second guest. Surprise quickly shifted into condescion as he jerked his head back towards Crowley to stare at him, amused. "Oh, very funny," Aziraphale said. "Really, old boy, you don't expect something as common as a goose to fluster me, do you?" He waved for Crowley to come inside. Crowley waved for Goose to step in first. In spite of his protest, this did seem to irritate Aziraphale already.

"Crowley, is that..." Aziraphale said, eyes narrowing as he shut the door once Goose had passed them and they were inside. He shook his head, disbelieving, then looked again to be sure. "Is that one of my ties? It is! Well that is..." He stuttered, displeased and indignant. "I cannot believe you. How insulting, honestly."

"I don't know," Crowley said, "I think my Goose looks quite handsome. I thought you'd like it! You're always saying how spiffy tartan is."

"On people," Aziraphale whined. "On me. Not on geese. Or any animal really. Putting animals in human clothing..." He seemed perturbed at the idea. "So bizarre and unnecessary." Crowley filed the angel's discomfort with the concept away for potential use at a later date. "It doesn't belong in here either, you know. This is a place of business, not a park or zoo."

"A zoo is also a place of business," Crowley said to be contrary. The look of frustration on Aziraphale's face shouldn't have made him feel as fond as it did.

Goose seemed as comfortable in the bookshop as it had in his apartment, which Crowley took as a good sign. He watched it waddle between the stacks and shelves slowly, carefully, soon disappearing from view. Crowley had known it long enough to know that it was planning something. Maybe many things. He knew because he recognized himself in it.

"It will get into the books," Aziraphale said, fretting.

"You let that other thing roam around your shop, hissing at me and getting its claws out. Surely that is more harmful to your books than my Goose!" Crowley reminded him.

"Yes, well, cats are meant to be indoors, Crowley," Aziraphale replied. "They're small." From somewhere neither of them could see, there came a honk. "And quiet," Aziraphale added sternly.

"Where is your Emily, anyway?" Crowley asked, curious. He'd expected there to be a fight already given how possessive the cat had been with him previously.

"Oh, she's here," Aziraphale said, trying to sound casual. "Somewhere." But Crowley could hear the lie in it. He always knew when the angel was obfuscating.

"You don't know?" Crowley asked, intrigued.

"What?" Aziraphale said, panicked by the question. "No, of course I know. She just hides sometimes. Likes to be left alone. Cat are like that, and so am I in fact. So perhaps we can take a rain check on lunch today, if you insist on having that... your..."

"Goose," Crowley filled in.

"... companion present," Aziraphale finished, ignoring the name Crowley had provided petulantly.

Suddenly they heard a hissing, followed by more hissing that didn't sound Goose-like, followed by an absolute racket of howling, honking, crashing, and flapping. As they rushed towards the corner of the shop it came from, they were blocked entry by a particularly tall tower of books being forced to remember that gravity existed due to the jostling it was getting as goose feathers and cat fur flew nearby.

"Emily!" Aziraphale cried out, "there you are. Don't worry! I'm coming!" Only they saw the cat flee in the opposite direction towards the stairs with a final hiss, disappearing, but not before Goose took flight. The furious flapping of wings knocked more books and knick-knacks over as it headed towards the eastern end of the shop, where Aziraphale's desk was.

"Oh my!" Aziraphale picked up several of the books and tried restacking them before giving up in frustration and just miracling them back where they were. "You absolute menace! You demon!" Aziraphale said, as he gingerly began trying to step over the many other obstacles now in their way.

"Are you talking about Goose or me?" Crowley asked.

"Yes," Aziraphale replied.

"Oi!" Crowley said. "Don't blame me! I didn't accept the bet. Are you giving up yet?"

"No," Aziraphale insisted shaking his head as they slowly made progress towards the desk, where Crowley could occasionally spot a flash of pristine white feathers rustling about as Goose had presumably a very good time in their absence. Crowley smiled softly at the angel's unspoken refusal to simply miracle Goose away or at least miracle them right to where he was. Architect of his own suffering, that was Aziraphale.

When they finally arrived, Goose flew away again towards the opposite end of the room, this time with one of Aziraphale's medals clenched firmly in its beak like a shiny treasure. It flapped so close to Aziraphale that the angel was forced to flinch down and put his arms up to protect himself. The desk was an absolute lost cause, covered in spilled cocoa and broken bits of mug, loose pages pulled from notebooks. The light of the lamp nearly blinded them from its new position on the floor, switched on but slipped out of its shade.

Crowley observed a look of terror otherwise reserved for the appearance of other angels come across Aziraphale's face as he surveyed the damage and then turned to follow Goose's path. "No," Crowley heard him say, "not the Bibles!" And with that, the angel was gone. Crowley didn't think he'd ever seen Aziraphale leap before, with the distance and speed of an Olympic pole jumper. Without using wings, even. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but he supposed it was like the stories he'd read about mothers summoning incredible feats of strength to save the lives of their children.

Only fifteen minutes later, Aziraphale stomped over to his sofa angrily, where Goose had finally wound down and come over to sit next to Crowley and get their feathers stroked, wine seeping into the carpet at their feet.

"Fine, Crowley," Aziraphale said. "I give in. You win. I swear that geese did not used to be like this and it is human or demonic intervention that's ruined them. But nonetheless you've found a creature I dislike. Emily also goes. Are you happy?"

"No actually," Crowley told him, and he meant it. Their visit had been very destructive, and Aziraphale looked positively worn down by it. He'd only wanted to have a little fun, not destroy the angel. "You know what, you keep the cat."

"What?" Aziraphale said, surprised. "I don't need your pity. We made a bet. I'm honoring it. It's only fair."

Crowley smirked. "Not really a cat person, it turns out, are you angel?"

Aziraphale gasped at that and look affronted, but eventually Crowley could see him finally surrendering properly. "You may have been right about the salmon and milk," he confessed. "It did cause a rather inconvenient mess. And I may not be quite as solitary as cats are, really."

"Oh?" Crowley asked, knowing that more was coming.

"Well, also..." Aziraphale shuffled his feet in shame before pulling up one one of his jacket sleeves to reveal a sizeable bandage. "Perhaps she was a bit wilder than I expected, living out on the streets all this time. I've put up an ad. I'm not just throwing her out. But she won't be staying with me any longer, regardless. So all this business with your... with that thing. It wasn't really necessary."

"Sorry about that then," Crowley said sincerely. "But it ended up alright in the end. I'll help you miracle everything back how it was. And I'm definitely keeping Goose around."

"You... what?" Aziraphale sputtered. "But you can't!"

"Why not?" Crowley asked. "I promise I'll never bring it back here."

"But you don't actually enjoy the company of that malevolent thing, do you?" Aziraphale asked, outraged, gesturing to the ruins of his shop.

"Well..." Crowley said with a smile, "lovely white wings, pre-occupied with its own pleasure, seems to love me for some reason. And just enough of a bastard... What's not to love?"

He nearly fell off the sofa cackling at the exasperated look on Aziraphale's face. The angel couldn't deny him that one.


End file.
